Lost Tonight
by BluntJoey
Summary: It's September first again and Harry is alas beginning his Seventh Year, whereas Draco is resentfully returning to repeat his. And surreal events already emerge: Harry faces changed feelings for Ginny; Draco faces torment as his father's back in Azkaban.
1. Chapter 1

** Author's Note**: This fic begins right after the events of Death Hallows, switching between the third-person perspectives of Harry and Draco. Although it is likeliest to have no relevance here, out of personal resentment I want to make note of the despicable epilogue in DH as being nonexistent in full capacity anywhere in my story's universe (whether it is ever addressed or not :P). Other than that all-too-necessary exception, though, the sequence of this story remains consistent with the canon.

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><p><strong> Chapter 1 <strong>Perfect World

"_Cast me not off in the time of old age_" - Psalms 71:9

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><p>Draco truly felt he was undergoing unbearable torture the minute he walked through the barrier to Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters at King's cross. It was September first again, and herds of new and returning students crowded the platform with their families, chattering happily amongst themselves. In a moment a loudly blown horn made everyone squeal in excitement to see the Hogwarts Express finally pull up. He and his mother had wised arriving thirty-five minutes early in light of the "special" circumstances this year, but it'd made no difference considering the platform was already packed as if the train were departing for Hogwarts in five.<p>

Draco grunted bitterly. "Mother, must I go through with this, must I forfeit myself to all the unwanted shame and humiliation no doubt awaiting me?" he pleaded irritably, frowning at the familiar sight of the train even as the crowd unleashed their deafening cheer of welcome. It had never seemed so unwelcoming before to him, Draco, so everyone else's cheering disagreement was utterly meaningless. As of matter of fact, the beaming, widened smiles in his every direction shortly grew to be something of annoyance, like a million sprouted eyesores; in the end Draco could do little other than seethe at the scenery surrounding him…

Narcissa Malfoy frowned furiously at her insubordinate son, and proceeded to very plainly remind him of her most prime, toxic ultimatum. "Draco, you will go to school, take your N.E.W.T.S., and with any luck be home with a successful report before Christmas arrives." Her tone couldn't have sounded stricter, uncharacteristically militant in enunciating these words to him. Sternly eyeing Draco's cold, silent expression of repulsion, Narcissa waited with stiffness until his terse shoulders lost their smug extra weight. She was not giving in. "Is that clear, Draco? You hear me? You will conduct yourself immaculately throughout your last stay at Hogwarts, and I mean it. After what your father has done to our family name, I_ shudder_ to think..."

But Draco had daringly turned his back to his mother and now stalked off with his trunk, not once looking back. He seemed to intentionally withhold even the slightest bit of respect from his mother, whom these days he was on the border of being estranged with. More easily put off by each other daily, Draco's utmost disgust surprised even his own self as he pushed onto the train and stalked over everyone until he found his usual compartment of choice at the tail-end. It was deserted, just as he'd unsurprisingly wished. Sighing, Draco dropped his luggage down and fell to his lazy seat. Closing his eyes for a meditative moment, Draco was distracted away from the sight out the window, momentarily disregarding all the unworried, joyful students socializing in their circles. He absolutely refused to entertain them; seeing their harmonious spectacle made him way too envious, too disgusted with the fact that they got to enjoy happiness on their first day while he did not.

Overtaken by such heavy thoughts, Draco wrote his first words about the day in the red-colored pages of his green, Slytherin-styled diary. Typically not a seemly hobby for someone like him, it nonetheless became a catharsis ever since he'd started keeping it in secret following the final siege at Hogwarts mere weeks ago. Simply put, it was stress-relieving like nothing else for Draco. It was just amazing to him that something so rudimentary allowed him to candidly express himself without ever the impediment of a second thought. As such, since Draco candidly wrote in it without ever the impediment of a second thought, thus, his diary pronounced his sinister outlook on present things with _painful_ accuracy:

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><p><strong> <em><span>September 1st, 1998<span>_**

_"While everybody else has their picture-perfect sky now that Harry Potter, bloody 'Chosen' Potter, has defeated the Dark Lord, I have the mortifying news that Father's been sentenced to Azkaban for life. Need I even mention everyone's soon-to-be severed attitude about my family? I truly do think, yes with certainty, that word of my father's bust will spread both rapidly and inflammatorily, just like an indestructible fire, and in the end explain why the Malfoy name suddenly lost its legacy. Yes, I dread the most humiliating day has yet to sweep Mother and me beneath the rug of PERMANENT infamy! A freak show bloodied by Hellfire...That's what my bloody second Seventh Year already promises to be, I'm afraid._

_Matters are just puzzled worse than ever right now, obviously._

_Yes, Voldemort's death was a huge miracle for me in many important ways — no more Death Eater suicide missions, no more forfeiting my own freewill, no more committing Unforgivable Curses at the perilous risk of a life sentence in Azkaban (Father being of course a primary example of the real-life consequence of such things) —but I'm still shorthanded either way! It's simple: now that my inglorious father's been nailed for good after so many years uncaught, consequentially the Malfoy name, built on centuries of rich Pureblood legacy, has nothing left but its own diminishment…._

_And now that McGonagall is forcing us all to come back after a "highly disastrous school year marked by highly erroneous curriculum" (word-for-word from the default letter I received a fortnight ago), I have to do over my seventh Hogwarts year before I can get passed my N.E.W.T.S! It's outrageous, but just to satisfy the agenda of the Half-Bloods and Mudbloods, "The Dark Arts" officially isn't a Hogwarts subject anymore, and now everyone who took it last year has to take remedial Defense Against the Dark Arts instead. It's bloody dim-witted if I do say so myself. As a matter of fact, I'd never been this reluctant to board the Hogwarts Express on a prior September the first."_

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><p>Once Draco read back his latest entry, tiresomely exhaling a few hoarse breaths, he shut his diary back into hiding right away. Only able to look through the perspective of a skewed mental state at this moment in time, the young Malfoy decided fast that "Reality" (which he certainly could slang the 'R' word at this point in his life if he so wished) had officially lost its alignment to the Universe, and now strayed from its rightful, all-pertinent path; , deluded or not, that certainly made it far easier for his brain to comprehend why pandemonium so prominently surrounded him while the rest of the wizarding world moved forward peacefully.<p>

Wistful suddenly, the angst-ridden adolescent released a deep breath of steaming, mind-boggled frustration and tried his best to ignore the aggravating noise of last-minute boarding...

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><p>Harry could not put into words how surreal it felt returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Given he'd just spent a year not in school but working on the whole 'Conquer Voldemort!' objective (which he was unable to fully accomplish until just weeks ago), coming back made him feel fully gravitated almost. And he had mixed feelings about that; he had just proved his knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the whole wizarding world, obviously, and it felt sort of laughable that he now had to take the course one last time before taking his N.E.W.T.S. Then again, Harry feared he was being a little conceited about it though, and reminded himself constantly that it was going to be nice either way being back at the only place he felt safe calling home. After all, for the first time ever Lord Voldemort wouldn't be a treacherous, very personal life-threatening concern on Harry's mind —<p>

How unfathomable.

Nonetheless, September first had come again, and like so many times before, he, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had rendezvoused at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters to depart for Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the mayhem from the crowds of intrigued people trying to approach Harry overwhelmed his every direction more than ever imaginable:

"Harry Potter, such an honor —"

"Mr. Potter, may I please have your autograph right quick?"

"Oh my God, it's him, Harry Potter!"

"Is it really him?"

These lines followed Harry repeatedly, accentuated by incredulous gasps and stunned expressions from strangers everywhere. Harry felt so badgered after a solid ten minutes of this harassment, in fact, that he almost lost his temper and screamed at someone. Luckily Ginny pulled him by the arm, bumped him past a few people, and managed to get them inside the train without further hassles. Hermione and Ron, luckily a step ahead, had already jumped aboard and stood idling in their wait for him and Ginny.

Unsurprisingly, a second arousal of excitement ensued, except this time they were stuck in the claustrophobic limits of the train. The four had to push and shove past swamps of star-struck faces, hoping each consecutive compartment was theirs to occupy. But once they were halfway across the train, Hermione reluctantly came to a sudden halt and sympathetically said to Harry, Ron, and Ginny, "I'll have to try and catch up with you three later. I'm terribly sorry but I've got to get to my first meeting as Head Girl — Heavens, I'm so nervous!" Hermione anxiously relayed, talking fast.

"Okay, see you afterward then, Hermione," Harry said back, managing to sound encouraging in tone despite the highly annoying rowdiness. Smiling, he added, "Good luck, not that you even need it."

Ron grunted unenthusiastically, not understanding how Hermione of all people could ever doubt herself in anything school-related. "To understate the ruddy obvious, mate!" he threw in, irritable as ever (understandably).

Ginny winked. "Don't even worry about it, Hermione, just do what you do best. Be yourself and you'll do great!" she advised Hermione, but was then distracted as a Third Year boy blatantly bumped into her and unapologetically sped on. Furious with the uncaring, overt rudeness from the boy, Ginny yelled, "You bloody git!"

Hermione frowned. "You okay, Ginny?"

"Yes, that was just a stupid scrawny little kid, anyway," Ginny reassured her.

Hermione nodded, making a grumpy look at Ron before turning around to head to her meeting.

Harry, Ginny and Ron exchanged unsure looks but kept moving, impatient to find an empty compartment already.

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><p>The Great Hall seemed twice as full as normal. Every seat on each House table was filled to the centimeter. Very unusually, about a dozen reporters hid in the background, watching. The chatter of the scene was exponentially louder than the already deafening uproar normal to the start-of-term feast. And expectantly, pretty much all eyes awed upon Harry the minute he sat down. Hermione and Ron, sitting at his either side, were now forced to act like bodyguards. Blessedly, however, Harry was of course insured by their natural instinct to protect him; it was a forever-lasting second-nature that basically defined their untouchable friendship, nothing short of an animal instinct. For Hermione and Ron it hence felt like an irresistible NEED to assuage Harry of aggravation.<p>

Harry meanwhile felt a sting of guilt for feeling glad that they'd been separated from Ginny. Why I am I happy that I didn't have to sit with her? He begged of himself. Why, WHY this terrible feeling? Secretly though, in truth Harry more than half-recognized the obvious change of heart growing inside himself, and not for the first time either. He wanted to pretend these striking new feelings foresaw no unwanted consequences, but day-by-day in his spite this thing pegging him inside became solidly identifiable; yes, misfortunate as it was, the nature of this dark possession was dawning clearer, Harry had to self-admit to this (reluctantly or not).

At this very moment as he sat in the Great Hall, awaiting the festivities, suddenly Harry felt his palms and forehead sweat a bit as he anxiously fathomed that unbecoming change was coming. His startled mind encompassed a strengthening disinterest that was going to force him to make a choice about someone special. So, now intently averting denial, Harry Potter inconspicuously tapped his nervous fingers on the table, heaved a deep sigh, and then tried to silently acknowledge who this pertinent person in question was...

Oh but no, no, he didn't think he could bear it.

Thankfully, Harry was nudged at the back by Ron, who pointed excitedly at the staff table. Harry, mortified (slightly anyway), redirected his eyes over at the staff table. He first noticed that most of the normal professors were present as usual (i.e. Flitwick, Sinistra, Sprout), and for a second was almost annoyed at Ron for the harsh alert. But then Harry was blindsided by the one new addition, presumably the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Harry was stunned by the appearance of a very familiar person, utterly so in fact, and slipped into another unreal daze. It was totally just impossible, Harry reacted, that of all possible candidates, this person truly sat next to Hagrid: it was none other than Fleur Delacour, making her to-die-for smile, shining her silver eyes. Confident-looking in light-pink exquisite robes and a gold mermaid necklace, in a meticulous match Fleur wore her new platinum-blonde, perfectly straightened hair like a true natural, procuring it the occasional wave with sophistication. The half-Veela's poise was just perfect-looking overall, the most eloquent appearance of the night by far.

Hermione scowled at Ron as his jaw dropped and his eyes goggled at the beautiful half-Veela, immediately mesmerized (as usual). Harry nudged Ron at the leg subtlety, sending his hopeless mate a hint. Alerted, Ron gratefully turned back to Hermione with an innocent grin, but then stupidly blushed. Harry chuckled the second this epic slip began to "color", and barely bothered to fight off laughing as Ron, turning redder than ever, basically paraded his own red hand of guilt in plain view for his girlfriend — it was suicide. But however flustered by jealousy she grew, Hermione stayed silent, fixated on hardening her scowl until it had Ron looking maddened in fear.

Harry jumped in to try and be Ron's savior. "So, err...Big turn-out this year, I reckon!" But with an overly-deliberate stutter Harry forfeited the white flag straightaway too, his vaunted nervy tone almost as obvious and of definite no help to Ron.

In fact, Hermione was so unimpressed she even made a snort in front of a one one-word response. "Certainly," she said dryly, folding her arms at her chest. "A stunning sight, don't you think, Ronald?" Hermione's fury was radiant in her voice, almost tangible.

Ron flinched nervously. "Erm, uh, maybe — I dunno."

Lucky for him, Professor McGonagall stood up gracefully from the staff table for their attention. Confidently making clear command gestures with her arms and hands at the thousands before her, McGonagall had the kind of opening poise that welcomed in the full retrievable attention of a room very easily. Tonight she wore shiny solid-black robes professionally, and her auburn hair, expectedly tied in her trademark bun, looked colored-up for the occasion. Taking out her wand, she whispered, "Sonorus!" and then addressed the Great Hall. "Silence, please, everyone! Silence, students, staff, visitors alike, please suspend your private conversations so that I can address a few crucial concerns before we feast. Yes, so kindly do as I ask please; lend me your undivided attention, thank you! Please, students, allow me to get through a short speech so that we can alas enjoy the wonderful annual start-of-term feast!" McGonagall humored a beamy smile at all of them as she surveyed the grand scene. The loudness was somewhat slow to decrease at first, though, so the Hogwarts Headmistress more firmly reinforced herself. "Students, that's ENOUGH! It is time that you politely direct your undivided attention at me, please — now!" Accentuating her familiar warning tone cordially, McGonagall's very strict speaking voice pressed through to them, and an easy fifteen seconds later the thousands of chattering voices had all quieted with respective fear.

Then, with nodding grace Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and smiled universally again, holding her wand at her mouth to speak. "Students, new and old, I welcome you to Hogwarts for what I am determined to make the best school year yet in its whole thousand-year history! But, in order to do that, we as a body cannot forget to acknowledge these last three pinnacle years of spectacular history-making that now alas rests complete: Extraordinarily, yes, Lord Voldemort returned to flesh in July of 1995 and — oh, enough!" Distracted by the audience's echoing shudder of gasp and fright, all in reaction solely to the sound of His name of course, McGonagall, irritated, cried out scolding, "Fear for a name belongs in the disposition of only the weakest sort of wizard or witch!" The Headmistress shook her head in disapproval a short few times, looking chastising, and re-cleared her throat authoritatively. "…Enough, I say, enough! Anyhow, progressively he returned to the hail of his previous power. With increasingly less subtlety, the incarnation not of he a terrorizing nemesis, but rather of he, Lord Voldemort, the greatest-living, murderous master of the Dark Arts, was returning fast to power. By the summer of 1996, his presence "officially" became public...Now. I ask that we as one take a moment to remember the victims of Lord Voldemort— not of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", not of "You-Know-Who", not even of "Tom Marvolo Riddle", his birth-given name. Let us indeed have a moment to silently reflect upon, appreciate even, the immeasurable toll of mass murder, heinous destruction, unimaginable torture, all the acts of terrors committed and orchestrated by Lord Voldemort."

People again were shivering to the bone as if intense cold pervaded everywhere. But nonetheless, in this surreal, discomforted moment, respect, remembrance and acknowledgment absolutely _palpated _the vicinity. The inundated strength of everyone - their regarded feelings, contemplation, and the animation of their emoted faces - far exceeded the Headmistress' expectations. She nodded approvingly, and continued. "This year, my students, now that peace has been restored I will do my duty to re-perpetually honor the extraordinary scholastic spirit of my predecessor and old friend Albus Dumbledore. I therefore have decided to introduce the new school year with a declaration to togetherness, not separateness, to unity, not adversity. Yes, we are hour familiar Houses but foremost we are one school that mustn't cease to be magnificent now." Professor McGonagall imposed these (clearly) carefully selected words upon them strongly.

She took a long pause as she surveyed all the faces across the vast room to make sure she was resonating, an indication of her seriousness. Finally, Professor McGonagall took a long deep breath, then said, "Onto a happier matter, I'd like to introduce out brand-new Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Professor Delacour, if you'd please stand up!" she said in a very welcoming voice.

The stunning Fleur Delacour, beaming, stood up to awed voices across the room. A quite uplifted applause (unsurprisingly) followed, and then Professor McGonagall formally introduced her. "Ms. Delacour some of you may remember as one of the champions in the most recent Triwizard Tournament, which took place here at Hogwarts a few short years ago. I assure you she is a well-qualified, superb candidate for the position, and I expect that you'll all welcome her with open arms!"

Another round of applause commenced. Hermione looked daggers over at Ron immediately but he was smart enough to not participate in complimenting Fleur right now. Comically relieved by this, Harry unsympathetically teased Ron with a boisterous smile.

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><p>The Gryffindors, like every other preceding year, threw their own little party fiasco once sent to their dormitories after the feast concluded. After all, everyone was <em>chipper<em> now that they'd been positively reassured by the sight of the same familiar, perfectly happy beginning full of reunions and newly-forming friendships inspiriting Hogwarts as always. For returning students this was clearly the only acceptable beginning of a new Hogwarts year; indeed, it seemed to be a necessity for them which this year had been unexpected but fulfilled nonetheless! Yes, and everyone's moods more drastically uplifted as the night wore on, too; more so with every moment, thus forth this night was eradicated of its initialized, woeful atmosphere; hence, thereby (mostly) everybody was becoming, _now_, amazingly - happy. Nevertheless, Harry, sadly, privately continued to feel haunted by an inner monster's reminding about his now conscious disinterest in Ginny. And after a while, that torment was _it_ for him. Enough was enough - Harry knew he needed to man-up and face disbanding his year-and-a-half (plus) of consistent romantic involvement with Ginny (in one form of another, anyway). It was too serious something to meddle with cold feet. Harry knew much better, was way better than that, and therefore pulled Ginny to side sometime during the Gryffindor Common Room's let-out fiasco to ask, "Hey Gin, we need to talk about something important...Could you stay after everyone goes to bed for me, please?" Harry was actually pretty impressed by the soothed, mature sound of his braving approach. He sounded good.

Ginny shook aback, somewhat blindsided at first, but quickly swung back in a very worried tone that filled Harry with sorrowful guilt, answering, "Sure, Harry, of course I will. No problem."

And that had been that. But, Harry couldn't have pre-imagined how extremely awkward every moment thereafter counting down to the last Gryffindor's bedtime felt in passing. It was torturous to endure as he tried to be surreptitious (and failed) about ignoring Ginny's eyes as well as Ron and Hermione's growingly suspicious pick-up (sort of, anyway) that something was the matter. Harry watched himself circle around with irresistible intent to stray aback in moderate, not-too-unsubtle isolation from all the socializing; right now everything but his loneliness seemed a threat of discomfort prone to conflict.

Finally, though, the crowds did disassemble and head to bed as the clock got closer to midnight. Once Hermione and Ron were the last to remain other than himself and Ginny, Harry, left no choice, went up to them reluctantly. With an almost entirely unwilling grunt he clued them in briefly. "Me and Ginny gave some major talking to do, mates. Explain later, alright? I reckon there's gonna be lots to tell, don't worry," Harry said meekly, an exasperated look worn on his face. Feeling unable to handle dealing with his best friends' separate reactions right now (especially Ron's); Harry stormed a considerable number of steps away fast before they could slow things further. However, though Harry in a second had intentionally turned the other direction, he was grateful to hear Ron and Hermione walking up the stairs to retire to their dormitories but a moment later. Harry, releasing a think deep breath, felt infinite relief in their apparent fast-handed decision to just trust his word for now.

They'll see soon enough, the whole (hopefully not too) devastated story will probably be broadcasting everywhere at breakfast tomorrow morning, anyway, I reckon, Harry mused cynically to himself. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he turned around, looking for Ginny, and was startled to see her waiting for him by the fireplace. Suddenly feeling a hundred times more nervous, he stumbled a few times as he walked over to sit with Ginny alas.

Harry rubbed his sweaty palms together anxiously, letting his shoulders slouch. Ginny was sitting across from him in the Common Room, staring at him contentiously with her hands flat on her lap. The fireplace was brandishing a warm, cozy fire, yet even so Harry felt a cold shudder overrun the room. It was late, almost midnight, and everyone else had gone to bed. The lone-mantled tension of this quiet scene was almost palpable as the discomfort between them increased, like a poison haze thicker and hostler in the air around them every second; all alive, the atmosphere hinging the two apparently had come infused with a flippant high-hand of inflammable emotion. Ginny and Harry were mendaciously looking at each other from opposite-facing chairs, their glowed eyes subsiding at each other's presence…

Inevitably, the two sank to a somewhat simultaneous gaze as the moment desolated and the two's deferral nonstop glaring waned. For all practical purposes really, in effect the two were colossally bulldozed, even if the overtaking antagonist at force was really just the grimace look of speechless discontentment returned from the other side of the fireplace. Thus, fallen to supersession, as the two adolescents sat adversely 'cross one another, seething to life a shivering diabolic nature, it is something like a 'quiet disquiet' recapitulated in the air...

Finally, Harry decided to speak first despite considerable self-uncertainty. Straightening up, he bravely made sure to look Ginny eye-to-eye sincerely, reproving a facade of confidence. Sighing, thereby Harry attempted to say as compassionately as possible, "Ginny, I wish everything could just go back to how it was before I left. Things were going so right back then, and I wish everything would just go automatically back to normal now that I'm back." He paused to shake his head slowly, bowing his head for a second, and then looked straight at her again, this time with a wearier expression. "But that's not how things are, no matter how much I hate it. I still love you, I do, more than anything I reckon, but I'm not so sure I'm 'in' love with you anymore. I'm sorry, really sorry Ginny; I blame myself that things between us aren't the same anymore. I mean that, Gin, honest..." Harry finished lamely, feeling vulnerable as ever.

Ginny glared deeply at him, fury stricken in her eyes. That demeanor didn't hold up long though. Reluctant tears squeezed out her eyelids and slowly started to fall down her sullen cheeks within a few moments. Embarrassed, Ginny turned away from Harry's sunken expression, rejecting his silent sympathies. Determined, she pretended to be subtle in wiping her tears, returned to look at Harry, and with a fixed, cold expression acidly replied, "Good of you to let me know. Now I can let Seamus know I'm available." She smiled sarcastically at him, raising her eyebrows suggestively, then jumped up and ran upstairs to her dormitory without another word.

Harry dropped his face into his hands, ashamed. Having his girlfriend back should've worked out great, yet it all just underwhelmed him. He didn't feel his heart skip or his stomach flip at the sight of Ginny anymore. There was instead this desolate feeling that stabbed his senses. Harry just wasn't in love with her anymore, plain and simple. What have I done? I reckon Ginny's gone absolutely mad already, he feared to himself. Staring uncertainly at the fire, Harry's brain was a melting vessel of confusion...

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><p>Draco sat with his knees folded against his chest on the floor in front of the molten fireplace, his arms wrapped around himself securely. Despite his close proximity to the fire, he was shivering to the bone. He was alone in the Common Room, gazing at the fiery blaze as the clock passed midnight. After being maimed all day over his pathetic father locked in Azkaban, right now Draco Malfoy felt shame and depression so horribly that he wished he could instead just be, well, <em>dead<em>...

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2** Meaningless Suffering

"_[D]o not stand upon the blood of your people_." - Leviticus 19:26

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><p>Harry awoke for the first morning of class feeling as though he'd just fallen asleep. Exhausted, hearing Ron's yelling voice beckoning him awake instantly put him in an unhappy mood. It felt like a sneak peak at the yelling he'd be hearing within the hour over his break-up with Ginny, which of course had not gone well. For that reason alone, obviously Harry well-expected her to tell Hermione and Ron all about the breakup as soon as she saw them; indeed, bitter as Ginny was, he could imagine her at breakfast right now getting a head-start at making him out to be a total git to everyone who'd listen at the Gryffindor Table (not to mention all the "inconspicuous" eavesdroppers who would naturally hear, then spread). Plausibly speaking, therefore, no matter what an unfavorable scenario awaited him downstairs, and needlessly said, that made it all the more difficult to force himself out of bed today.<p>

"Come on, mate, we're gonna be late to breakfast," Ron called impatiently.

Harry yawned loudly as he sat up in his four-poster bed, stretching. The morning sun was shining brightly into their dormitory. Ron was waiting fully dressed. Everyone else was already gone. They really must've been running quite late after all. "Sorry, didn't fall asleep until really late," Harry apologized. He jumped out of bed and started getting dressed quickly.

Ron looked at him suspiciously. "You alright, Harry?" he said, watching as Harry anxiously scrambled to put on clothes. Ron couldn't help but wonder why his best mate seemed to be intently avoiding eye contact...

Harry flushed an obvious shade of scarlet. "Err, yeah, what do you mean, mate?" he said a little too defensively, smiling unconvincingly.

Ron shrugged, saying nothing, but seemed to keep an eagle eye on him as they rushed down to breakfast in awkward silence.

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><p>"Heavens, Harry seriously broke up with you just like that?" Hermione was stunned to disbelief upon hearing Ginny's words at breakfast.<p>

Ginny nodded earnestly, her expression self-righteous. "Yep, can you believe the nerve of him, Hermione? How could Harry Potter, the guy I was brainless enough to think was sweeter, actually genuine, turn out to be just like the other boys? I can't believe how stupid I was!" Uncharacteristically, inadvertent or not, essentially Ginny Weasley disregarded all her pride in her arguably exaggerated cry of self-pity.

Hermione, sitting beside her at the Gryffindor Table at breakfast time in the Great Hall, an arm affectionately wrapped behind her friend's shoulders, shook her head in distaste for the entire situation. "Oh, Ginny, I know you probably absolutely despise Harry right now, and you totally have every reason to, but I've known him for too many years to not mention that I'm absolutely positive Harry isn't _meaning_ to hurt you by all this. I know that's not what you want to hear right now, but I promise, Gin, it's the truth. I know Harry Potter." Her words couldn't have been more truthfully aimed to console her, and Ginny knew that. Hermione even struggled to articulate the right words for once, candidly expressing with first a sigh, "Harry's been through so much this past year. I know it bothers you that he didn't include you in our whole adventure - or misadventure, depending on whether we're discussing a specific day or just the end result - but believe me, it was the most terrifying, difficult experience, beyond what even I anticipated. I'm not saying being in an aftershock state of mind excuses him treating you like this, Ginny, but it may very well explain it."

Blanching, Ginny went vivid pink in the ears just as her face drained of color. She opened her mouth to speak but was dumbfounded; her mouth stayed gaped open without uttering a sound. She wished something just as profound and intelligible would come to mind, but nothing surfaced. Instead, Ginny just let out a weary sigh and waited as a swallowing, awkward silence passed by. Finally, she conceded to just say, "Who knows, Hermione, who knows. I suppose you have one concrete point no matter what: I haven't spent any time with Harry in an entire year, really; I guess I just assumed he'd come rushing back to me with open arms. I was so sure he'd have the same feelings, that we'd just be on hold until after the war, you know?" Ginny very slowly turned tearful, and only noticed when she had to stop speaking because her voice cracked. Pretty much without any subtlety whatsoever, Ginny immediately looked away, mortified that Hermione could see her crying.

And to make matters even worse, Ron was approaching the Gryffindor Table with Harry tagging behind him awkwardly.

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><p><em> Draco was at the top of the North Tower, looking out from the balcony at the starless sky as the brisk cold air hit him. He was entranced somehow by the scene, his thoughts empty of worry or fear of being caught. His imagination slid right over him -<em>

_Suddenly, the sound of a high, shrill voice interrupted his reverie. "What are you doing up here, Mr. Malfoy? Thought I wouldn't find you?"_

_Draco turned around and was startled to see the terrifying sight of Lord Voldemort - those blazing red eyes, deformed-like snout, pallid skin and all - facing him mere feet away. Underneath the hood of his typical black cloak, the Dark Lord held that same old wand of his firmly, prepared for anything..._

_Draco froze, overtaken by sudden paralysis, at the impossible vision of the late Lord Voldemort. Gasping, his mouth stayed gaped open even as he tried to utter a response, something. But Draco couldn't; speechless he remained as the towering presence of Voldemort, reanimated and lively as ever, sunk him beneath more and more fear - _

_Finally, Draco Malfoy screamed louder than he could ever remember. But just as he did, Voldemort overpowered him with an unending cruel laugh. Then, very suddenly everything started to deteriorate away as Draco, holding his breath, was forcibly flown backward into a high-up, distant first-person perspective by an invisible, massive force. Nonetheless, Draco frightfully remained subject to the ringing sound of Voldemort's malicious laughter until a tremendous black hole appeared midair and absolved him -_

_He was but a destroyed vessel - soulless and static - and without nuclear identity..._

* * *

><p>Draco didn't immediately recall where he was when he first woke up, and was utterly startled when a sudden roar of vicious laughter practically deafened his ears. Unsurprisingly, former ally Blaize Zabini was pointing at shaken-looking Draco and laughing away. The poor defamed young Malfoy couldn't manage an instinctive frown right then without first exhaling a long, weak sigh.<p>

Fifteen minutes later Draco, falling into his seat at the Slytherin Table for breakfast as usual, was obviously not at all surprised that his fellow Slytherins around him stared and giggled at him. However, what_ did_ come as a total surprise was the devastating front page of the _Daily Prophet_, which was immediately tossed at him by Blaize Zabini. He and a group of fellow minions (all former mates of Draco, too, notably) exchanged delighted looks before returning their eyes to Draco, who looked taken aback by the newspaper suddenly in front of him. Thus, with an obscurely guarded look the ostracized young Malfoy took the paper into his hands not too quickly.

The headline could not have brought Draco worse news:

* * *

><p><strong><span>NARCISSA MALFOY ARRESTED FOR 'CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER' AND 'A-DEGREE TREASON'<span>**

By Rita Skeeter

_In an astonishing about-face, Narcissa Malfoy was taken into the custody of Ministry Aurors early this morning. Although her husband, Lucius Malfoy, was recently convicted for 'Capital Murder with Death Eater Involvement' and sentenced to Azkaban for life, the official original word was that no evidence implicated his wife on any like charges; in fact, the investigative report specifically cited her exonerating lack of a Dark Mark (the Death Eater insignia). Therefore, the Ministry's announcement early this morning was most unexpected._

_Just hours ago, however, the Ministry stated that newly-surfaced evidence implicates Narcissa Malfoy, too. Accordingly, Aurors uncovered a Penseive at the Malfoy Manor which irrefutably incriminated Mrs. Malfoy. The contents of the enclosed memories (however many there are) 'remain strictly confidential', says Minister Shacklebolt. The Ministry did inform us that a Grand Jury indicted her just last night, and that a trial date has been set for October 14th. If convicted in the High Wizengamot Court, Mrs. Malfoy will, at minimum, face life in Azkaban, and at maximum, the Dementor's Kiss _—

* * *

><p>Barely able to bear the brutal humiliation of this information, his disgusted eyes ceased to read any further. Nevertheless, Draco could <em>not<em> distract from the reality of things around him, which was unarguably no less troubling: jeering, cold-tempered faces leered at him everywhere in the Great Hall. Just by luck his gaze fell dead on Harry Potter and his minions at the Gryffindor Table, their pleased shock exacerbating the humiliation. Draco felt like an ant about to be stomped on by a hundred giants. He wanted to run, run far out of sight, but then they would win.

But as Zabini and the others laughed right in his face, Draco still remained speechless for what felt like an endless moment of torture. He couldn't have been more blindsided, truthfully; Draco had never actually foreseen criminal charges being filed against his mother. After all, she herself had not been a Death Eater.

Finally, Draco Malfoy stood up furiously, slammed his fist on the table, and with a deadly look of rage yelled, "Like I bloody care what happens to that pathetically caught bitch! Saw it coming anyway." He managed a smirk of disregard, his infamous cheeky reply. "Besides, all that matters to me is that I'm going to be cashing in big-time any day now!" And he let out an arrogant laugh to seal his facade.

By now Draco had attracted the full attentions of nearly everybody in sight. He looked around, inwardly mortified, and then suddenly he was face-to-face with Professor McGonagall, who'd apparently been passing out their course schedules. Her lips were thinned, always a bad sight, and her body seemed inundated with anger. McGonagall impolitely threw Draco his schedule, warning him very sternly, "Don't even DARE to repeat that kind of behavior hereon, Mr. Malfoy, as it will not been taken lightly. Now, sit down unless you want me to write you a detention already!"

And Draco, forced to swallow his pride, was truly squashed by no less than the worst and largest giant of all.

* * *

><p>The awkwardness of the morning only increased for Harry. Unfortunately, their first class today was Defense Against the Dark Arts - joined by Slytherin classmates. It was already certain to be true Hell, given the brutal challenge that preparing for their N.E.W.T.s would bring. (Even Hermione could not hide collective despair for the situation.) And even yet, now they also had the torturous burden of putting up with Slytherins all the while. Even Professor Trelawney could've made the right prediction about this: here awaited an obvious disaster.<p>

Today especially, though, the topic of heated interest was the shocking arrest of Malfoy's mother, Narcissa. His_ dad_, Lucius, had been convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban, yes, but that had been a little while ago and not unexpected. In contrast, it was pretty blindsiding that Narcissa had been arrested months afterward. As a result it seemed clear that Malfoy was ostracized already at Hogwarts. Even Malfoy's (former) Slytherin mates were taking a special interest in mocking him!

Thus, it went without saying that although for NOW Harry had evaded the ambush of the whole Ginny thing (as Ginny hadn't had time to fill Ron in given the mayhem about the Malfoys), a very contentious atmosphere was still preset for them no less.

Careful, the trio arrived early for class, intentionally taking the least-noticeable seats in the very back. Their immense curiosity about Fleur Delacour as their new professor filled their minds appreciably. It seemed, too, that such rested in Malfoy's mind, for he alone had arrived before them and ensured his seat in the very front. The three of them were easily made resentful of the obvious fact that he was prematurely eager to scrutinize Fleur. Then again, it came as no surprise at all - after all, Fleur was a firm opponent of his family before, during, and after the war.

Four additional students glided in shortly, while Fleur (now Professor Delacour, Harry had to keep reminding himself) only managed to arrive right on time. She barely gave her new students any immediate acknowledgement as she, harassed, carried a sizable filing cabinet across the room, dropping it on top of her desk. Breathless, Fleur turned to look at them with all the enthusiasm that she could presently muster, smiling brightly. (Harry speculated the half-Veela was rather put off by the one or two strands of her straight silver hair which were out of place.)

Walking gracefully to the center of the classroom, Fleur introduced herself. "Hello class, it is delightful to at last meet you. Some of you may remember me as Beauxbatons' Triwizard champion four years ago. My name is Fleur Delacour, and it is a great honor to now return to profess a subject so crucial to your wizarding education." With her charming French accent, Professor Delacour articulately elaborated on her qualifications, making allusions to "recent history." But the more she spoke the clearer was the intention behind her conservative robes and modest makeup.

The boys were gawking helplessly and obviously.

As Fleur finished, she looked rather disappointed that her half-Veela appearance was causing a distraction, and quizzically moved on seriously. "Well, let us not waste any time. Our first topic on the curriculum - Draco, please pass down these syllabuses - is the justice system as it applies to the practice of Dark Arts. In light of the high difficulty of the N.E.W.T.S caliber, by random selection I have split you up into partners for both classroom and out-of-classroom activities. If you all would come take a look at the bulletin by the door - the one with those extraordinary historical displays, right there - you'll find the list of assigned partners." She gestured for them to rise.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged suspicious glances, and quickly arose. But to Harry's great, _great_ dismay, his partner was unbelievably none other than...

Draco Malfoy!


End file.
